ABOARD THE UBC CYPRUS IN THE NORTH PACIFIC — On his first ocean voyage seven years ago, Jun Russel Reunir was sent deep into the bowels of a cargo ship, where he shoveled iron ore until his muscles ached — then continued shoveling for a dozen hours more. A few months ago, he and 18 other Filipino men crewed a cement carrier traveling from Japan to the Philippines. But for the seamen, perhaps the only thing worse than the repetitive drudgery of their harsh labor was the boredom that came when they were done, any romance with the sea long since faded. Jayson Guanio, 29, the ship’s cook, recalled that once, on a two-month voyage carrying bauxite from Montenegro to China, he ran up to the bridge to peer through binoculars at the flat rise of a distant island, just for the chance to look at something other than the sea. Still, Arnulfo Abad, 51, the engine-room fitter, who has spent most of the last three decades on cargo ships, said he was grateful for the work. Some who graduated paid for those degrees on the earnings from backyard piggeries, or made their pocket money selling Popsicles on the street. They came home with thick, gold chains around their necks, built tall cement houses among their neighbors’ bamboo huts, provided for their parents and sent siblings, nieces and nephews to college. In a karaoke staple, a lover laments that “I endured everything because you’re a seaman,” but in the end, discovers that “you’re a seaman-loloko,” a play on the Filipino word for a womanizer. Rodrigo Soyoso, the Filipino captain, started as an apprentice on a commercial fishing boat where three dozen men were allowed to bathe once a week, and he slept on deck, tied to a vent by the ankle to keep from sliding into the sea. He crewed rusting tugboats, a putrid livestock carrier and cruise ships, working his way up to officer rank. As captain, Mr. Soyoso ensures compliance with international maritime regulations, avoids collisions with other ships, and monitors cold fronts and monsoon winds. Another Filipino tradition carried on by seafarers are bolitas, metal bearings or bits of melted plastic shaped into balls, then implanted under the skin of the penis. They gathered between coils of mooring rope and a life raft at the port-side rails to try to siphon enough signal to receive text messages. Before the internet, when seamen arrived at port, they elbowed each other to get to the phone booth first, trying to find out if a child had been baptized while shipmates banged on the plexiglass. Back then, they also had a custom known as “over-over.” Seamen called their wives and girlfriends over a radio channel, saying, “I love you, over.” The ocean is a dangerous place to work. In the last 10 years, 1,036 ships have been lost at sea, including another cement carrier that capsized in bad weather near Scotland with no survivors. A mooring rope could snap with enough force to rip off a man’s head, or a falling grate could shear off fingers. Gallery: The most memorable pictures of all time (Photo Services) In April, Mr. Reunir was at port when his pregnant wife called. Since achieving his dream, he has relished the adventure of sailing pirated waters in the Gulf of Aden, accepted the risks of North Sea storms, and endured 10-month long stretches of separation from everyone he loved. After seven years onboard cargo ships, he’s now dreaming of buying some farmland and raising goats and pigs in the town where he grew up.
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